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“I’m putting my foot down Brenda, I’m not parting with it!” Brian and Brenda Towers stood face to face in their lean-to shed. Not by choice, there was little room, especially for both of them to be in there, nose to nose, stomach to stomach.
“Brian!” Barked Brenda “That Pre-war contraption has not seen the light of day since… since… PRE-WAR!”
This was true, the New Hudson bicycle lay cluttering up the final few feet of Brian and Brenda’s lean-to shed. Gathering dust and rust like aphids feeding off a rose bush. The tandem and their newer individual bicycles plus Brenda’s gardening paraphernalia also created chaos and clutter. Brenda did not like this, it made her feel as though her house was about to fall down. If only everything could be tidy, all at once, organised and compartmentalised like the rest of her life. Brian did not see it this way.
“What if it comes in handy one day?” Brian pleaded.
“It has! Today is its lucky day! Young Ernest Bradshaw is crying out for a bicycle to race on, you said so yourself, I heard you and Sid whispering behind his back don’t forget!”
“I’m not a flaming charity, Brenda! That cycle cost me… it cost me… err”
“You can’t remember, can you? It was that long ago… you miserly old buzzard Brian Towers!”